He turned back toward the bear. She was not happy with his presence and she was about to show him just how unhappy she was.
He raised his only weapon...a bucket full of cold water. He felt a little bit like David fighting Goliath. He only hoped the results would be the same. He watched the large sow stand up on her hind legs. He knew she wouldn't attack him until she returned to all fours. The minute she hit the ground, he began swinging his bucket as hard as he could.
"This is it."
The bear was six feet from where he stood when John let go of his bucket hitting the bear square in the face. She shook the water droplets from her head and roared.
John knew he was in trouble. The bear charged and knocked him to the ground. He punched and kicked with every ounce of strength he possessed but he was no match for a full grown sow protecting her two cubs. He felt the bear's teeth sink into his arm and then his side. He tried kicking the bear’s belly but she turned and bit into his leg. He heard his own voice scream out in pain. His only hope was to show the bear he was not a threat to her babies.
John rolled into a ball and pretended to be dead. The bear pawed him repeatedly but he forced his body to remain limp and lifeless. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. His ears began to ring and he felt the blackness surround him. He knew he was going to lose consciousness at any moment. His last thoughts were of the young woman sitting in a tree in the middle of an unfriendly wilderness. He had failed. Again.
16
Grace crossed the shallow river just as her husband had instructed. But as she made her way to the stand of trees, she hesitated. Something about hiding in a tree while her husband faced death didn't sit well with her, especially since this whole thing was her fault. She couldn't make herself do it.
Shivering against the cold night air, she crouched back to the water's edge looking for something to use as a weapon. John's scream rocketed fear through her body. She needed something, anything to use as a weapon. Small rocks lining the river's bank glowed white in the moonlight. Shaking violently with fear and cold, she picked up the hem of her nightgown and formed a pocket, loading as many of the small ones as it would hold. A few quick handfuls and she splashed her way across the cold river toward the cabin. Frigid water seeped into her unlaced boots. Her feet and hands were so numb, she swore she would never feel anything again, but then a horrific scream echoed in through the night and she felt plenty.
Grace ran as fast as the weight of the rocks she carried would allow, stubbing the toe of her boot on hidden rocks beneath the water. It should hurt but it didn’t. The light of the full moon outlined everything. And it was bad. John lay on the ground. Still. Not moving. The bear rolled him all around and still he didn’t move.
She needed a plan of action and quick. If she threw the rocks at the bear, it would charge her. But, what if she scared off the cubs? Would the mother follow? It was worth a gamble. Otherwise, worst case, John was going to be torn to pieces. Best case, he would bleed to death. Either way, she needed to do something and quick. Because, without him, she would die too.
Her quick, silent steps carried her around and behind the bear’s back where the cubs were still rummaging for the scraps she left by the door. She silently berated herself for being a very stupid woman. She should have known animals would be drawn to the food. How many times had she watched the feral cats populating the alleys behind the saloon fight each other for bits of scraps? She was doing her best to be a proper lady and instead of using her common sense, she was acting like a brainless ninny. She had almost killed her husband twice in one day. She rolled her eyes heavenward. Come on, God. Help a girl out. Please.
She stole another glance at John’s still body. The bear still sniffed and mouthed at his limbs. Fingering the rocks in her arms, she took up a position around the corner of the cabin and threw them at the cubs as hard as she could. She was almost out of ammunition when she heard the cubs bleating cries followed by splashing water at the river’s edge. Grace hid behind the firewood stacked against the cabin and prayed with every ounce of faith she possessed that God would send momma bear after her cubs. She held her breath and waited.
One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. It was probably only a few seconds since she had thrown the last rock, but it felt like a lifetime. Grace stole another look around the stacks of firewood at John’s lifeless body. If the bear didn’t follow her cubs, then what? Suddenly, the bear turned in her direction. She hid in the stack of wood and waited. Grace heard water splashing. She peeked around the sticks of firewood and saw the bear’s dark figure splashing across the water and out the other side of the river. And then…nothing except the wind whistling through the pine trees around the cabin. Grace counted a few more heartbeats and ran to John's side.
Blood streaked his pants and shirt sleeve. There was more blood soaking through his shirt. She had to get him inside to see the extent of his injuries. But how was she going to move him. John was at least six foot two with a very muscular build. There was no way she could lift him to his feet or hold his weight if he chose to lean on her. The only other option was to drag him. But she knew that wasn’t really an option at all.
Running along the shoveled path to the cabin, she flung open the door and ran to the bedroom, stripping the quilt off the bed. Grace shivered violently and she knew she needed to protect herself from the falling temperatures if she had a prayer’s chance of helping her husband. She grabbed John’s coat off the hook behind the door and covered it with her shawl, tugging the corners tight to hold the oversized coat closed. She pulled the quilt behind her and rushed to where John lay. She spread the quilt on the ground next to John and knelt beside him.
"John." She pushed his hair off his forehead. "John, can you hear me?" A groan from his lips was his only response but at least she knew he wasn’t dead. At least not yet.
"It's okay, John. I'm here. I have to roll you over onto the quilt and then we are going to have to figure out how to get you inside the house. It's gonna hurt but I have to get you inside. Do you understand what I'm saying to you? John?"
He moaned and whispered so soft she barely heard his words. "Yes, I hear you. You are planning on torturing me some more." He coughed, followed by a grimace of pain.
She stifled her retort. If he could joke at a time like this, then he must be in better shape than he looked. At least, she hoped that was the case.
"I'm going to use the waistband of your pants to roll you over onto the quilt as gently as I am able. Are you ready? I'm going to grab your pants and pull." She warned.
He nodded his understanding without ever opening his eyes. The mocking smirk on his lips told her he was reading much more into the comment than she intended. A warm feeling hit her low in her belly.
Her mind back on her business, she was able to get a firm grip on the snug fitting waistband of his pants. She rolled him over onto the quilt and quickly wrapped it around him. He was shivering as hard as she was. The cold would slow his blood flow. But, depending on how much blood he had lost, he could still die.
Grace tugged on the corner of the quilt to move him to the house. She didn't budge it one inch. Panic surged through her veins leaving an icy wake. She had to get him into the house but he was too heavy. Think, Grace. Think.
She had to do something. John was very pale and the blood stains on his shirt concerned her. “Can you hear me? Wake up and listen to me. I need your help."
She smoothed his hair back out of his face and rubbed her hands on his scruffy beard. His eyes popped open but they looked a little feverish. She slapped his cheeks.
"Madam, I would appreciate if you wouldn't accost a man while he is down," he growled. Grace watched her husband try to roll over. He fell back, his face turned several more shades of pale.
"John, I can’t do this alone. I need your help. You are going to have to bear most of your weight. And you most definitely cannot pass out. Do you understand what I'm saying to you? You. Cannot. Pass. Out."
He rolled
his eyes at her and grunted. “I’m not dead yet, woman.”
"Well, it’s certainly not from lack of trying. It would serve you right if I left you here to fend for yourself. But, since you are my only ride back to civilization, I'll help you only because I'll be helping myself. Now stop lollygagging and let’s get moving.”
"Yes, ma'am."
She grabbed his shoulder a little too forcefully and John winced. She loosened her grip slightly and helped him sit up. Grace held him in place until he was able to get his bearings. Grace watched his painful transition from sitting up to his hands and knees.
“Do you think you can stand?” Grace was worried. If he was able to stand and lost his balance, she would not be able to hold his weight.
"No. I think from here, the best I can do is crawl.” He raised his head and impaled her with his icy stare. “But if you tell anyone about this, I swear I’ll deny it to my dying day.”
“You were mauled by a bear and you are worried someone will know you crawled across the ground to save your own life?” Grace couldn’t fathom what went through the man’s head. He was prideful. Arrogant. Impossible. And downright bull-headed. Even in the face of death the man refused to admit he needed help. Perhaps his stubborn pride could be used to her advantage.
“Your secret will be safe only if you live to dispute my side of the story. If you die, I’ll be free to tell everyone whatever I choose to tell them. Perhaps I’ll even embellish the story a bit. After all, if you are dead, will it really matter how you lived your last moments?“
“Woman, will you please shut up and help me to the door. I don’t know which is worse. Being attacked by a bear or being talked to death by a bossy female."
Grace smiled at the back of the man crouched on the ground on all fours. “There’s the impossible man I’ve come to know. Now let’s get you inside.”
She stooped down and placed one arm around his back and one hand on his left bicep. Lord, the man was strong. She could feel his muscles flex through his shirt. She remembered what it felt like to have his arms hold her. Her heart gave a sad little hiccup knowing her husband was certainly not inclined to keep her after knocking him out and inviting a bear to make a meal of him.
“Everything alright?” John’s voice cut through her unexpected, and ill-advised thoughts.
“Yes. I’m waiting on you to get started.” Did her voice sound as emotional to John as it did to her own ears? Good Lord, she hoped not.
John’s movements were painful to watch. Once, Grace thought he would fall over but he stopped, caught his breath and kept going. She held on to him tight, their bodies moving as one, towards the safety of the little rundown cabin. It wasn’t the home she envisioned, but right now, that front door was as inviting as the fanciest house in Kansas City. Finally, John crawled his way over the threshold and fell onto the floor taking Grace with him. She lay against him unable to free her arm from under his shoulders. His labored breath gave witness to how difficult the short distance to the cabin had been for him.
“John. Can you hear me? John?” Grace shook him with her free hand. He didn’t answer but his breathing had evened out. He no longer gasped in pain. Finally, he spoke.
“Woman, will you please close the door. It’s cold as the devil’s locker in this damned place.” His teeth chattered.
Relief flooded Grace. They were safe and John was still alive. She pulled her arm from under his shoulders and closed the cabin door against cold and danger. Her cold fingers fumbled with the bar but she finally set it in place. Now she felt safe. Stirring the dying embers in the fireplace with the iron poker, she added sticks of wood and waited until the flames roar to life. Heat had never felt so good.
Since they had never made it back with the water bucket and the water barrel was empty, Grace used the water she was going to make coffee with in the morning. She put the water filled pot on the stove. As hot as the fire was, it wouldn’t take long to heat.
“John, I’m going to make you a pallet in the floor near the fire. Then we’ll see about those wounds.”
She heard him draw a ragged breath as he struggled to speak. “I think I’ll rest here for a little bit, if you don’t mind.”
Rummaging around in the kitchen she found scissors, rags and a bottle of whiskey. Assembling them on the floor within close reach of her patient, she rushed into the bedroom and pulled all the covers off the straw mattress and dragged it into the main room.
“John, can you roll over so I can get the bedding underneath you?”
He nodded and rolled to one side allowing her to push the covers behind his back. His painful gasps sent chills across her skin.
“Now roll over the other way.”
“God, woman. Must you continue to torture me? I thought seeing me mauled by a bear was enough blood sport for you for one day.”
She liked her husband’s sarcastic sense of humor. It he would just reconsider and give her a chance to make all of this up to him. She doubted he would give her any more chances to get to know him better. Tucking a pillow beneath his head, she covered him with a second quilt. Now it was time to assess the damage.
"John, I'm going to cut your clothes now. Some of the blood has dried to your skin so it's going to sting but I'll be as careful as I can. Here, a sip of whiskey will help with the pain. I remember Reverend Baker giving some to us kids when we had a tooth or ear ache.”
John raised his hand to take the bottle but grimaced and fell back. She lifted his head and pressed the bottle to his lips spilling a dash into his mouth. He coughed and sputtered.
Grace began with John’s shirt. That's where the most damage seemed to be. She cut up both arms and across the shoulders. The shirt fell away, exposing a very muscular chest with a generous covering of dark hair. She had seen men's bare chests before. Workers on the railroad in Missouri often worked shirtless on hot summer days. But this bare chest was different. It belonged to her. And her mouth was suddenly very dry.
Averting her eyes, she dunked the rag into the cool water and gently dabbed each scratch and puncture wound. Four punctures in a grouping on his side worried her. Had the bear's teeth penetrated a vital organ? She had no way of knowing. Only time would tell.
Grace offered him another swig of whiskey. He shook his head no.
“Reverend Baker said there’s no shame in showing weakness. Everybody’s got them, you know.” Grace admonished him and set the bottle on the floor next to her.
She turned back toward her patient and was impaled by a set of crystalline blue eyes. She was unable to break the connection. What’s your weakness, Grace?” John’s eyes never left her face.
A surge of heat ricocheted down her spine and seeped into her core. The look in her husband’s eyes left no doubt what he was thinking. But this was not the place and certainly not the time.
She turned her back on her husband lying on the floor and stole a quick swig of the amber liquid from the whiskey bottle. She needed some liquid courage to calm her nerves. A generous splash onto a clean rag, sewing needle and thread, she was ready to close some of his deepest gashes. Now, more in control, she could afford to answer his question. “My weakness is that I’ve always been really horrible at sewing. I was never able to set my stitches correctly.” She knotted the thread and turned toward him. “Are you ready?” She did her best to give him an innocent smile but she was certain he couldn’t miss the wicked gleam shining in her eyes.
Grace knew the man had a sense of humor but she had not the slightest inclination he would erupt in rolling waves of laughter. He laughed so hard he was forced to grab his bear-bitten side. And it was contagious. Soon, she was laughing right along with him.
Fear and nervous energy of the last two days floated away on the sound of their laughter fading away into every nook and cranny of the little cabin. Exhausted from their unexpected outburst, John lay back on the pallet next to the fire and motioned for Grace to proceed. She took the smallest of stitches and as few as possible. Finished with his
chest and arm, it was time to remove his pants. She swallowed hard. She did her best not to be affected. After all, this was simply an injured man who needed her assistance.
"Get on with it, woman." The man on the floor watched her with his clear blue eyes. "I can assure you I am in no condition to ravish you. Again. If I was so inclined." His words were gentle as if he sensed her hesitation.
Dear Lord. Was the man able to read her mind? She did her best to sound unaffected. "I can assure you, dear husband, I am perfectly capable of defending myself if the situation should call for such." To emphasize her words, she gave the scissors in her hand a couple of snips in the air. John's eyes widened at the insinuation she could dismember his manhood from his body with little effort. That was the last thing on her mind but the stubborn ass didn’t need to know that.
She covered his lower extremities with the quilt as she exposed more and more skin. Peeling his shredded denim dungarees away from his body, she examined his legs for injuries.
She could feel his gaze focused on her face but she pretended to be unaffected by him. But when she became aware of the not-so-subtle changes of his maleness, her face heated. He is doing that on purpose. Refusing to allow him the satisfaction she noticed, she focused on her task, cleaning and bandaging each wound on his well-muscled legs. And as much as she didn’t want him to know how much he affected her, she couldn’t help taking advantage of her open access to his body.
Rubbing her hands over his chest, stomach, thighs, she committed the feel of him to memory. At least he couldn’t deny her that when he dumped her at the Hanovers and left her wanting for something more. At last, she was done.
"Thank you," he whispered still looking at her with his steady gaze, his blue eyes darker than before. She quickly flipped the quilt over him and gathered the soiled rags and dirty water.
She twisted nervous hands in her damp nightgown. "I’m sorry about tonight. I feel responsible for the bears. I mean, I was the one who left the food out there." Tears stung her eyes. She couldn't keep them from spilling over and she hid her eyes behind the sleeve of her nightgown..
Grace Page 12
